Time Zones

The weirdest thing about moving back West is the time zone adjustment. By the time we get the kids to bed and settle down for the night it's way after midnight in the East, so any articles posted won't be read by the majority of readers (all 2 of you) until tomorrow morning, and by then many of the eastern bloggers have already posted their entries and moved on into the real world (I assume most of them have jobs...) and I feel like I'm showing up late to a party that's already winding itself down.

When I originally moved to Ontario in 1994, my new eastern time zone boss was fond of saying that we would deal with all the problems before head office (which was in the west) turned on the lights. He was kinda right.

At the time I was a big hockey fan and thought that the Pacific time zone was better: I'd get to watch the eastern hockey game from 4 to 7 over dinner, and if there was a western game, it'd be over by 10 or 11 leaving a good 3 to 4 hours of hardcore Saturday night binge drinking. When I moved east, all of a sudden the western game stretched on to 1:30 in the morning. Suddenly not worth it anymore.

But in 1994 it was a moot point: the league was having a strike or lockout - I can't remember which, but the result was the same. When they all came back I could no longer watch 6 straight hours of hockey anymore. I didn't really care about every game anymore.

Who knows. Maybe the upcoming strike might finish my taste for NHL hockey altogether. But I digress.

Coming back into the Pacific time zone is also harder because of our wonderful satellite dish. With all those eastern channels being fed into our living room, prime viewing begins at 5 in the afternoon. How weird is that?

I guess, like any change, it's all a matter of getting used to it.

Katana

Katana, chop enemies down with skill, speed and
accuracy. Katana's were made for warriors that
wanted to be fast and deadly like samurai
warriors. The Katana is very sharp and takes a
long time to blunt. (Please Vote)


What sword would you use (info and pics on swords as well)
brought to you by Quizilla

via Classical Values who's a Bastard...Sword that is.

Triple Dog Dare

To increase the amount of pain and suffering around the world. Nicholas "Dr. Evil" Packwood a.k.a. Ghost of a Flea has Triple Dog Dared everyone to post high school era photos of themselves.

I tried to resist.

I really did.

But it's a Triple Dog Dare and rather than be accused of extreme cowardice (or is that Kerry-dice? Ouch! Zing! I had to get one in there, didn't I?) I have decided to inflict upon you, the two or three lost souls who've somehow clicked into this corner of the blogosphere by mistake, the ultimate punishment.

Click onward if you dare, but don't say that you haven't been warned.

He also lists others who've done this, but I don't care as I'm far too selfish in my pain and suffering to care about the rest of you and your pathetic little lives. To think this was all caused by Avril friggin' Lavigne...

Bruichladdich

Halifax 1997

I'm giving some training sessions on the accounting system to the sales force of the company I used to work for. It's March and the weather's damn cold. I'm staying across the harbour in Dartmouth and have taken the ferry to downtown Halifax for the evening. A good meal and then it's off to find a place to have a drink. I don't know anybody in town, aside from the co-workers I'm going to see the next day and am cruising the streets solo. I wander into a friendly looking pub playing live music and walk up to the bar. The "live music" is actually a table of patrons who have brought their own instruments and are getting completely hammered while belting out some of the best Maritime music I've ever heard.

I turn to the barmaid, who looks the part a little too perfectly, and ask for my favourite up-'til-this moment Scotch. She makes a face of disgust and looks like she's about to throw me out of the place when she leans over to me and says in that low husky voice used by so many women in her profession:


"Lad, would ya like ta sample a REAL Scots Whiskey?"

"Sure" I say.

Well, what would YOU say?

"But I'll make ya a deal, This first one's on me. If you like it, you'll hafta buy me ma" - she points at a little table next to the local musicians - "a shot of it too, for her Birthday, which was today."

Sounds like a fair deal to me. She pours me a Bruichladdich and I try not to gulp it down. I'm instantly in love. No, not with the barmaid, or her ma - although the possibility did cross my mind - Hey, I was single and desperate!

"Set your ma up," says I, a warm fire spreading through my chest, "and me too."

Two hours later I stagger out of the bar and catch the ferry back to Dartmouth, not giving a damn about the cold. When I awake in the morning, grabbing my computer and handouts as I head out the door, all I can think about is if they stock this stuff in the liquor stores here, and back in Ontario where I was living at the time. At the airport that evening, as I'm heading onto the plane to take me back to Toronto, I debate whether I made the right decision: checking my notebook (sorry, the COMPANY'S notebook) with baggage and taking the five bottles of Bruichladdich with me as carry-on.

In Toronto, the next time I went to the liquor store (down to 3 bottles of Bruichladdich) I can't find it anywhere. Oh well, I say to myself. I know people in Halifax who can get it for me. Then I here that they shut the distillery down in 1994 and that they won't be producing it ever again, meaning that the last bottles should be on sale in 2004 by my reckoning.

Curiously enough, as I digest this little piece of disappointment, I find a supply of Bruichladdich at the huge LCBO for $45 a bottle! The hoarding begins anew, but I have to consume and soon my supply has dwindled again. I begin to realize that I can't rely on my favourite single malt being available forever.

The last bottle is drained in early 2000. I am sad.

But then hope renewed. The distillery is purchased and new owners have taken over.

I start to see the magic bottles in the liquor stores again...WTF?

$74 a BOTTLE!!! $94.50 for the 15-year old?

Damn it. I really am going to have to find a job...

Dinner

Rue's been busy in the kitchen again...



Springrolls all gone now...mmmm...

I don't normally brag, but I eat like this almost every day thanks to my wife's incredible cooking.

I'm not even gonna miss my favourite Vietnamese restaurant in Mississauga anymore.

Now if only I can find a place in Kelowna that does decent Pad Thai.

Girls Gone Wild!

No, it's not what you think.

I went out tonight to do a couple of errands, dragging real-life buddy and sometimes commenter Chris along for the ride. Due to the fact that Chris was a pussy and didn't want to go for a beer (Sorry for the 'tude dude, but according to this stupid test I'm 81% asshole, so I've decided to go with it for now.) I got home relatively early and definitely earlier than my wife and kids were expecting.

Insert explanation: our kids are young - 14 months and 2 and 3/4 years old respectively, so I'm not used to getting out by myself all that often and I was feeling kind of guilty for leaving Rue to get the girls settled and ready for bed.

So like I was saying - Chris was being a pussy for not going out for beer and I got home early expecting carnage and mayhem...no, just a massive game of touch football and all 4 girls, Rue, Boo, Punkin' and Ruby the dog all screaming, yelling and having lots of fun playing a toddler/infant/dog version of touch football.

I have to wonder if they always have this much fun when I'm not around...

Predictable

Well, the countless interview questions about what I'd do if I were bored, wouldn't I find the job tedious yada yada, should've tipped me to the fact that I was considered over-qualified and a potential flight risk to the first local company that offered me something better...

In other words, I didn't get the job.

Weird though, I wasn't feeling all that let down after I hung up the phone with the drone who'd been programmed to tell the losers unsuccessful candidates that they were in fact losers unsuccessful. I guess that I considered myself overqualified, and truth be told, they WERE right: I would've left them for the first suitable thing that came my way.

The interview was good practice though- a cleansing of the palate, if you will. I felt a little slow and stupid during the process, like my brain was shooting neurons through molasses, but I did okay. And I looked fantastic...

Next time will be better.

Overdressed?

Is it a good thing to be the best dressed person during a gang interview? I mean the other three people at the table, career bureaucrats all, were dressed in Walmart biz-casz, whereas I was suit boy.

They're checking my refs and doing whatever it is that they do...

Interview

I've got a job interview tomorrow, my first in a few months. Gotta get my suit ready and my brain sharpened. Time to start earnin'.

Cancon Timewarp

I am trying to figure out why Kelowna restaurants seem to have an obsession for the 80's Quebec band The Box...I mean, seriously, they weren't that good to start with, but for some damn reason, every time I hear one of their songs it starts ricocheting back and forth in my skull until finally it's 3am and I'm staring in the mirror with a straight razor in my hand and my inner monologue voice (who strangely sounds like Canadian actor Michael Ironside) tells me to end the pain.

My inner monologue has been trying to kill me for several years now.

I've been in Kelowna less than a month and have heard The Box played through restaurant muzak no less than FIVE FREAKIN' TIMES in five different places!

How long until Men Without Hats and Luba puke themselves back up on the radio...